Between the Adventures 6
by The Inner Genie
Summary: Well, they can't have adventures ALL of the time!


BETWEEN THE ADVENTURES 6 

Well, they can't have adventures EVERY day, now can they?

Disclaimer: NO money was made. NO copyright infringements intended. NO kidding.

Vignettes

By The Inner Genie

**Something to Believe In**

(Post "Brothers in Arms")

-Curtain opens-

Night closed tightly around the treehouse high above the jungle as Marguerite Krux, thirsty for a drink of water, stepped into the kitchen area. She startled slightly seeing a faint red glow moving around on the balcony, but when she realized what it was, a worried frown creased her forehead. Swiftly and silently, she made her way across the floor.

As she appeared like a wraith beside him, Lord John Roxton's booted feet fell abruptly from the balcony railing and he jumped up, catching his chair before it crashed to the floor.

"Nice way to sneak up on a fellow, Marguerite," he said somewhat grumpily while stubbing out the thin cigar he had been smoking.

"Sneaking up on fellows used to be my line of work, Lord Roxton," she replied lightly, all the while trying to read his mood.

"Hmmm, another clue to the mystery that is Marguerite, eh? All I can say is, you must have been very good at your job," he said with a tired smile.

"Very good," she assured him, smiling back.

He carefully set the remaining stump of his cigar on the balcony railing and dragged up another chair. She lowered herself with a sigh. Resuming his seat, he looked over at her with a question in his eyes.

"Having trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"No…yes, well, thirsty, I guess. You?"

Roxton frowned at the question then looked sideways at the attractive brunette. He was of two minds whether or not he should tell her what had been keeping him from sleeping for the past few weeks. The decision didn't take long. Although his trust in her had been badly shaken, his need for someone to confide in tipped the scale.

As he began to speak, he stared out at the dark jungle hovering just outside the balcony; his voice husky with emotion. "I've been thinking about Malone. I keep wondering if there was something more I could have done or…or said to stop him from going off on his own like that." He turned and looked at her. "I'd like to have apologized to him, Marguerite. I commanded lads Ned's age and I gave them, near strangers, more support than I offered to him. After all we've been through and the relationship that we shared, I should have been better able to reassure him and help him when he was going through those flashbacks. I can't forgive myself for pulling back."

Marguerite leaned over and placed her hand lightly on his arm. "You did more for Ned than you realize, John. If you hadn't gotten that gun away from him, he may have shot not only you, but Challenger and me, as well. You did support him, John. I saw how you handled him."

Roxton shook his head knowing that that part of the event wasn't what was bothering him.

"Still, Marguerite, it was wrong of me to assume that he would just get over it. I know better. Once you start remembering those times--the terror, the stink, the killing--the feelings come rushing back." He paused, remembering his own private terrors. "And those feelings can be overwhelming," he whispered.

Marguerite looked over at his strong profile and noticed that his chin, usually held firmly up, was now pressed into his chest. She closed her eyes. She knew about war memories. She drew in a deep, silent breath. When her eyes opened, they were filled with determination.

"What more could you have done?" she asked her tone a little belligerent for his sake. "I saw you and Malone out on the balcony deep in conversation."

If possible, his chin sunk even further down. "Yes, we talked about the Great War. I told him of soldiers, the toughest men I ever knew who came back from the front with their nerves completely undone. I thought it would help to know that he wasn't alone. I even thought that telling him these men's stories would interest him…you know…distract him from his memories." His voice got lower. "I should have let him talk, I guess, then maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to go off by himself."

"Is that what's bothering you? You think Malone went off because you didn't solve his problems for him?"

In the darkness, she could barely see him nod his head.

"You're not his father, John! Besides, judging by the letter he wrote, he's gone to test himself…to live the life he's only ever written about. You did the same thing when you were his age. Surely, you wouldn't deny him that experience?"

"What if he's in danger, Marguerite? How am I supposed to keep him safe if I don't know where he is?"

"You can't protect us all of the time, John."

"Protect! Some protector I am. First, Summerlee…leaves us, then Ned, and now, Veronica. I've lost them all. Like you said, if this exodus doesn't stop, I may end up being the only one here."

Marguerite huffed, refusing to let her own fear of this very thing exacerbate his own. "Don't be ridiculous, John. Nothing will make Challenger leave his precious laboratory, and as for me, I've found most of the plateau even more annoying than here, so why would I leave? You'll never lose me."

She didn't realize how her last statement might be misconstrued, until Roxton reached across the space between them and put his large, warm hand on her arm. Flustered, and too tired to get into anything personal, she smothered a wide yawn and said hurriedly, "Well, I'd better get to sleep. Big hunting day tomorrow."

Roxton's grip got a little tighter as he leaned closer to her. "You'll never lose me, either, Marguerite," he assured her with a new emotion in his voice.

Not entirely sure if his words had a double meaning, she abruptly stood up, nodded to him once and turned her back on the moonlit balcony. "If only I could believe that," she whispered softly as she passed into the darkness of the treehouse.

Then faintly, as if carried to her ears by the gentle night breeze, she heard his voice (or was it her heart?) say, "Believe it."

-Curtain closes-

**The Men's Club**

-Curtain opens-

"How about it, old boy?" Challenger asked with an excited gleam in his eye.

Lord John Roxton leaned back against the trunk of the tall shade tree on the edge of the dense jungle and wiped the sweat off of his bare chest with an old rag. He regarded the red-bearded scientist skeptically.

"A men's night out, you say?"

"Exactly! We've been working extremely hard the last few weeks and now that we've got the windmill up and running, we deserve a little fun. You know what they say, "All work and no play makes George a dull boy." Challenger cocked his eyebrow at the younger men and slowly winked one eye.

"Sounds great to me, Challenger," the youngest of their party declared enthusiastically. He caught the rag that the hunter threw at him and began to wipe down, too. "But where can we go. It's not exactly like New York City around here. No clubs…and the closest thing to a restaurant is a Zanga stewpot."

Roxton shook his head and started putting on his shirt. "Somehow, that doesn't appeal to me," he said with a smile. "I've seen what old King Jacoba thinks gourmet." He paused a moment to button his shirt. "But, you're right, Malone. Supposing that we do have a night out, there's no place where three handsome men, such as ourselves, can go to relax and be entertained."

Challenger chuckled. "You young men can't see the forest for the trees." At their puzzled look, he continued. "There is a perfectly splendid little place less than a mile from here that has everything we need to have a rollicking good time. Good wine, fine food, and all the hand rolled cigars we can smoke."

Roxton and Malone exchanged glances.

"And this heavenly place would be….?"

"Why, the treehouse, of course."

Roxton threw back his head and laughed. "You've been out in the sun too long, George, if you think Veronica and Marguerite would put up with us turning the treehouse into a Men's Club."

"Ah, but I have a plan," Challenger said tapping the side of his head. "One has to know how to handle the ladies."

"Handle what ladies?" Veronica asked as she and Marguerite stepped out of the shadows of the jungle path. They carried a bucket of fresh, cool water between them.

"And what's all this about a Men's Club?" the sharp-eared linguist asked raising one eyebrow at the two younger men's guilty looks.

Challenger alone seemed to be oblivious of the rising tension. He scooped up a ladle of fresh water and took a long swallow.

"Quite simple, my dear," Challenger said handing the dripping ladle off to Roxton. "We men have been working practically non-stop for the last two weeks, and now that we've finished the job, we need a little relaxation…a respite from our labors…a place where we can rejuvenate our flagging energies with good food, good wine, and fine entertainment."

The two women set the almost depleted bucket down. Marguerite folded her arms across her chest.

"So, the Men's Club that you mentioned is to be a reward for all your manly efforts?" Her voice was dangerously calm.

"Exactly, my dear! I knew you would understand." He waved his hand at the towering structure on the hill. "Just look at what we have accomplished. The windmill is working better than ever." He waggled a finger at Marguerite. "Which means that you ladies benefit from our hard work as well. It's only right that those who work get some reward."

He winked slyly at the two men as he said this as if to say, "See how well my plan is working?"

Ned, who could feel the heat radiating off of the beautiful linguist beside him, tried to warn the older man of the coming storm, but could manage only a thin, keening sound from his dry throat.

Veronica, too, could feel Marguerite's temper rising. She hurriedly spoke up, hoping to defuse the imminent explosion. "We're tired, too, Challenger. You my not be aware, but while you men have been working on the windmill, Marguerite and I have had to do all of the cooking, the laundry, as well as tending to the garden."

"Well, of course I'm aware of the situation, my dear. You ladies do your jobs quite well, but, really, woman's work cannot be compared to the rigorous jobs that fall to men. After all, what is the stirring of a cooking pot compared to the swinging of an axe? The folding of a clean shirt compared to the hefting of a twelve foot beam? The…"

"Stop. You needn't go on, George." Marguerite said with a frightening smile on her face. "Veronica and I understand perfectly. You think that because we aren't all dirty and sweaty, and smell like a pack of raptors we haven't been working hard. "

Roxton, who had been moving slowly back towards the jungle hoping to disassociate himself from the doomed scientist, surreptitiously raised his arm and sniffed.

As the true nature of the situation began to trickle into Challenger's consciousness, he looked quickly around for support from his friends, but the cowardly duo would not meet his eye.

"Now, Marguerite," he said hastily. "I mean nothing of the sort. The female gender is just not capable of the exertion needed to take on the harder tasks." He grinned ingratiatingly. "Why, we men love the fact that when we return from our labors, we are cosseted by women who look and smell so fresh and sweet from their little feminine pursuits."

"Cosseted!" the jungle beauty yipped.

"Little feminine pursuits?" inquired the dark-haired linguist ominously.

It seemed to the poor professor that the two women in front of him grew several inches taller. He made a placatory gesture with his hands.

"Now, now. Perhaps I used the wrong words, but my meaning must be clear to you. It is the female nature to nurture and see to the needs of others, just as it is in a man's nature to protect and provide."

Veronica, who felt thoroughly insulted, spoke through clenched teeth. "I seem to recall a few times in the not so distant past when we women protected and provided for you men."

"Quite right. Quite right. The plateau has indeed forced us to step out of our natural roles. But don't you see? My idea of turning the treehouse into a Men's Club…say once every month…will correct, at least for that one night, this unnatural balance."

The two women exchanged another look. "Go on, Professor," Marguerite said. "This is getting interesting." Her anger was quickly turning to amusement as she tried to guess just how deep a hole the older man could dig himself into.

Challenger grinned and nodded. "I knew you would like my plan once I explained it to you. Now, as I'm sure you are aware, Marguerite, back in the civilized world women are not allowed into the finer gentlemen's clubs…and with good reason. The atmosphere of most clubs can become rather ribald, and language is used there that no lady should be subjected to. Our Men's Club, on the other hand, will have two lady members." He gave them a courtly bow.

"Now, wait a minute, George," Roxton interrupted with a displeased frown. "What happened to good food, good wine, and fine cigars?"

The fearless hunter had moved back into the group when it seemed that Challenger just might make it out alive after all. But now he stepped back again as the women turned in unison to look at him.

"I'm coming to that part, John." The older man turned back to the women. "Our Men's Club, besides giving us men a well deserved men's-night-out, will also provide us with the occasion to resume, for one night at least, our God-given roles, or, if you will, our natural and fitting places in society."

Warming to his plan, Challenger beamed at his friends and rubbed his hands together. Indeed, he felt inspired as if from above. "Ned, Roxton, and I will do the jobs that we are fit for. We'll hunt for game, trade for the wine, and roll the cigars. You ladies will do what females have done for millennia; you will cook the food, serve the men, and clean the dishes."

"Serve the men and clean the kitchen?" Marguerite almost laughed.

"Exactly," Challenger enthused. "Believe me, it will be a welcome break for all of us. Of course, after dinner, the men will need to spend some time with each other. You and Veronica may retire to your rooms to pursue the simple pleasures that women so enjoy. Mending, perhaps? Or perhaps Veronica can teach you sketching. Or, heh, heh, you may indulge in a good old gossip session, hmmm?" He shook his finger jovially. "I must warn you, though; the main room will be off limits. What with the clouds of aromatic smoke, the manly laughter, the coarse jokes, the clink of wine bottles, and the slap of cards on the table, it won't be a place for the fairer sex. Unless…" He looked at each of the women thoughtfully. "Does either of you ladies play a musical instrument? Background music would be just the ticket."

Turning his ecstatic face towards his companions, expecting to see the excitement reflected back at him, he was dumbfounded to see the hot, icy glare in Veronica's eyes, amusement in Marguerite's, and the wary, could it be appalled, look in the men's.

He tried to read their expressions. "Is there something wrong?" When no one answered, he asked the women. "Of course, if you'd rather not play for us, we can use the gramophone."

Suddenly, Marguerite smiled at the confused scientist. Challenger smiled uncertainly back.

"I think your plan has some merit, George," she said.

Challenger's smile got more confident.

Marguerite cut her eyes quickly over to Veronica, then continued. "Of course, there will need to be a few changes, but having one night a month to unwind and have fun, sounds wonderful."

"A few changes? Well, certainly, my dear. After all, you lady members should have a say in how the club is conducted. Fair is fair." Challenger was magnanimous in his triumph.

She was silent for an instant, then she asked, "Did you ever attend a ball?"

At the abrupt change in subject, the scientist's smile grew wary.

"Uh, well, yes, I suppose. In my younger days, perhaps. Not really my cup of tea."

His puzzled expression was mirrored in Roxton's face, and Ned, seeing Veronica's confused look, whispered in her ear, "It's a big, fancy dance party." Veronica rolled her eyes. "I know what a ball is," she whispered back. She was not sure where Marguerite was going, but anything would be better than Challenger's plan.

Marguerite sighed dreamily. "Dressing in beautiful clothes. Dancing 'til dawn. Men fighting for your favor.

"Marguerite, you aren't thinking…?" Ned exclaimed, horrified.

"That we should change the Men's Club into a ballroom?" she asked lightly. "Well, no. That wouldn't work, would it?. Not enough people, you know. And the treehouse is much too small. But, I was thinking that dancing would be a nice addition to the evening, and it _would_ help us resume …how did you put it, George?...our natural roles in society." She raised one eyebrow. "Unless, of course, you men decide to dance together."

Ned blushed as Roxton snorted. He could foresee that the whole Men's Club idea was not going to get off the ground.

Meanwhile, Challenger was frowning in deep thought. "Well," he said at last, "I think we could squeeze a little dancing into the evening. But we must not cut too deeply into our card playing time."

"I absolutely agree!" The mysterious linguist was on a roll, now. "Actually, I learned to play cards from some nuns. You can't get more lady-like than nuns. And, I'm sure that Veronica would love to learn, too."

"I know how to play cards, Marguerite. My mother taught me." Veronica was getting Marguerite's ploy, now.

"There you go!" Marguerite almost chortled. "Card playing is natural to both genders."

Challenger, by this time, also "got it."

"Very well," he grumbled. "I suppose it's not against the female nature to drink wine and smoke cigars, either?"

"Seems perfectly natural to me. Right, Veronica?" The two women were grinning.

Malone and Roxton shook their heads ruefully as they gathered up the equipment. It was a good idea while it lasted, they thought.

As they hefted the tools and headed back to home, Challenger tried one last time. "Calling it the Men's Club is…?

"You're right. Hardly fitting anymore. What do you think we should call our night out, Veronica?"

Their hostess tapped her chin. "Hmmm, I think The Treehouse Club has a nice ring to it."

They all nodded in agreement, even the Professor.

Marguerite dropped back to walk with Roxton. As she fell into step with him, she picked up a stout branch and hefted it in her hands.

"What's that for," the hunter asked eyeing it warily.

Marguerite grinned evilly. "It's a men's club, and if George has anymore of those silly ideas, he may just get what he asks for."

-Curtain closes-

9


End file.
